The Christmas Thief (12 page)

Other than, of course, the criminal himself.

Officer Wesley leaned forward, jamming his forearms into his lap. He zeroed in on Tasha’s eyes. “Now, why do you think anyone would want to do that?”

Lorena stood up. “That’s enough. Tasha’s been through a terrible ordeal, and I think it’s high time we get her to a hospital.” She pointed at Marylu. “You need to drive.”

Marylu pushed Wolfy off her lap. “Absolutely! Let’s go, girls.”

“In a minute, Lorena.” The officer turned his attention to Tasha. “I need a description of the suspect.”

“She already said she doesn’t remember anything,” Lorena shot back.

“Fine.” He balanced his hat back on his head. “I’ll follow you in my squad car and we’ll do this in the hospital.”

Tasha forced another bite of sandwich into her. Her eyes watered and queasiness threatened her. “No, Lorena, it’s fine. I-I’m not feeling well, officer, but I’ll tell you everything ... everything I remember.”

He flipped over another page on his pad. “You said someone came to the door. What happened before that?”

For the first time since she’d walked back into her home, she relayed everything she could remember: Marc’s Christmas gift, followed by a bottle of red, and a sweet note left on her table.

“Okay, and then you heard a knock on the door.”

“Yes.”

“So you got up and answered it?”

“Yes.”

“And ...?”

Lorena rubbed her back. “Try to remember who was there, honey.”

Tasha looked at the hat on the officer’s head and stopped. Any color in her cheeks surely had disappeared.

“What is it?” Marylu asked.

She glanced at Marylu and then at Lorena. “H-he ... wore a hat.”

“What kind of hat?” Officer Wesley asked, unable to hold a poker face. He began tapping his pen on that pad of paper, clearly anxious for this last bit of news.

She gulped air and looked to Lorena for strength, blinking rapidly. “A ... black one,” she said, her eyes flooding. “A black ... cowboy hat.”

A painful silence swept into the room.

“But ... wait,” Tasha blurted, shaking her head. “D-don’t read anything into that—I’m so confused right now ...”

Officer Wesley’s phone beeped and he held it up to look at the screen. A triumphant smile unfurled across his face, and he stood, snapping his notepad shut. “We have our suspect, ladies.” He looked at each of them in turn and doffed his hat. “I’ll see myself out.”

As he marched out of her house, Tasha wanted to run after him, to cry “wait” ... but both her legs—and her lungs—failed her.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Tasha zipped her jacket to her chin, the winter wind forcing its way into and under every gap of her outfit. She locked the door of her cabin, took a deep breath, and stepped outside. For the first time all week, she didn’t tremble when she looked over at Marc’s property. At first, she couldn’t accept her feeble memory of that night. Had she imagined that a hat-wearing man had shown up in the dark? Surely there were more Stetson-wearing men in this rustic coastal town than Marc Shepherd.

But then Officer Wesley made his announcement to the local press. “We found our guy,” he’d said. “Prowling around the hills across from the victim’s cabin.”

She didn’t want to believe it, but as Officer Wesley annoyingly pointed out, no other crimes had been committed all week. And as details poured forth—Marc had been found trespassing on Jim and Helena’s property with binoculars around his neck and a sharp knife in his pocket—she slowly allowed herself to absorb that, perhaps, Marc was not the man she believed him to be.

The idea of it crushed her.

Marc, she’d heard, had denied any involvement in her disappearance. Said he was trying to find her. His hat, he’d said, had been missing for days, along with several personal items, such as the fire pit and beach chairs. When Officer Wesley confronted him about why he hadn’t filed a police report? Marc offered him nothing.

And then ... he called, leaving her a voice mail message, his voice raw, angry. “Were you hurt? When I get out of here, I’ll find out who did this to you!” He paused. “You know you drive me crazy, don’t you?”

His words wrenched her core. She’d heard those same words before from him ... and from the perpetrator. Was it really possible that they were one in the same? Though the authorities pressed Tasha for more information, she kept this memory to herself. It hurt too much to consider.

With an aching twist of her heart, she took another look at the lot next door. The house’s foundation lay bare, untouched. Work had stilled since the day Katie had found her disoriented by the side of that mountain road. Marc had posted bail, and he had also been ordered to stay far, far away from her, which meant—no working on the house.

Tasha, it seemed, had gotten what she had wanted from the beginning.

A bird alighted on one of the branches of the pine tree, the one Marc had given her as a Christmas gift. She pressed her lips together hoping to stem the tears. Really, she should have known better than to believe the fairy tale. Not once, but twice. First Roger. Then Marc. What was that old saying? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on ... me.

Despite Lorena’s objections, Tasha wanted to go back to work today. She needed to go back. Her poor boss had been working like a fiend on this Christmas week with her arm still sore. Besides the altruistic nature of her working through the pain, Tasha desperately wanted to stay busy. It was the only way she could ever bury the things she could never forget.

She drove slowly through the brightness of morning and pulled into the camp parking lot, pleased to see lights strung around the cafeteria and a manger scene set up in front. All the players stood waiting in anticipation of the big event. All except the baby Jesus, of course. As a child, he never made an appearance in the family crèche until Christmas morning. Seeing that bit of her childhood before her caused fresh tears to well, but she wiped them away with gloved hands, determined to triumph over this day.

The interior kitchen lights blazed and she could hear pots banging against the side of that old cast iron sink. Tasha smiled, the sounds oddly welcoming. She took the steps two at a time and swung open the weathered kitchen door.

Inside the muggy kitchen, her heart began to pound like a coming train. She grabbed onto the door frame.

Lorena rushed over. “Honey, what is it? What is it?”

Tasha’s mind spiraled, and her head began to waver. “Th-that smell,” she said, gasping. “What is that smell?”

Lorena was holding her up now with her good arm. “It’s the sauce for tonight’s dinner. We’re having spaghetti.”

Tasha shook her head, nearly unable to stand. “N-no. Something else. Wh-what’s in it?”

“It’s just my regular sauce—tomatoes, oregano, bit of salt and pepper. Oh, and garlic. Lots of garlic.”

She shot a look at Lorena, recollection washing over her in the ugliest, muddiest of ways. A torrent of tears cascaded down her cheeks. “Lorena, it’s all wrong ... they’ve got the wrong man.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Tasha had come to realize that when dreams were allowed a chance to breathe and change, even diversions could give them a chance to grow into new and better ones.

Unfortunately, her “friendly” neighborhood garlic farmer never learned to look past the tough hand he’d been dealt. Perhaps his future in prison would give him time to rethink that choice.

It was Christmas Eve and Tasha’s tree provided the color and sparkle of celebration. A brand new fire pit warmed the tight-knit crew of friends as Marc, sitting close to Tasha and holding her hand, addressed the group. “Cho’s wife used to sit outside on her lounge chair and stare out at the ocean right over Tasha’s house. The woman loved the way Tasha’s tree gave shade to the cabin.”

Andy looked at Marc, watchful. “Sorry you thought I was your thief.”

Marc smiled at the teen. “I never said that.”

“It’s why you didn’t report it to Wes, right?”

Katie sighed. “He probs thought it was me. Like I was doing it to get my boyfriend’s attention. Right, Marc?”

“Or me,” Tasha said. “I was a little ... unfriendly when you boys showed up.”

Andy tossed a stick into the fire. “I’ll say!”

“I was being cautious,” Marc interrupted. He exhaled, taking each one of them in, a sobering look in his eyes. “I made a costly mistake. By the time I figured out that someone up on that ridge was stalking Tasha—although I wasn’t sure who yet—it was too late.”

“We love you for trying to protect us, though,” Katie said.

Andy shook his head, frowning. “That jerk got away with so much. Tasha could’ve been killed.”

Tasha took in the sincerity in the boy’s face. God love him, she wanted to hug his neck. And Katie’s too. She would never, ever forget the care and concern the young girl gave her when she needed it most. The girl’s actions had changed Marc’s mind about her, too.

Marc tightened his grip on Tasha’s hand, pulled it to his mouth, and kissed her fingers.

“So wait. You’re telling me that Cho did all this because he missed his wife?” Jim piped in, shaking his head. “That’s nuts!”

Helena scowled.

Jim threw an arm over her shoulder, his elbow sticking up behind her chair. “I mean ... there are better ways to show a woman you care.”

Lorena let out a whoop and a laugh. Her husband, George, sat beside her, his smile mellow and warm.

“In his sick mind, Cho thought that he could keep the memory of their marriage alive—and maybe even woo her back—if nothing in his view changed. When Tasha bought the house, he wasn’t too alarmed. He saw a young woman and figured that she wouldn’t have the resources to change too much, let alone put an addition on the house that would wreck his memories.”

Tasha shook her head, screwing up her mouth. “Sexist ...”

Bill cut in. “But what about you, Marc? Was he mad about you building? What did that have to do with Tasha?”

“Seems Cho wanted to keep this big old tree here as much as Tasha did, and at first, he was glad to see her fighting against its demise.”

Lorena frowned. “So what changed? You gave her the tree ... didn’t he know that?”

Tasha sighed. “I found out a few weeks ago that Mr. Cho had a direct view of my house.” She swiveled a look at Jim. “Don’t ask me how.”

He chuckled and held up both palms. “You got it.”

“Anyway,” she continued, “I believe he may have become a little obsessed with Marc and, um, me.”

“Who isn’t?” Teddy quipped, drawing a spattering of guffaws.

“I’ve heard that he was doing everything he could to keep us apart, worried about what changes might happen to my property if we stayed neighbors. First he started setting me up, and then when that didn’t seem to work, he drugged me. Thought he could scare me enough to leave Cottage Grove.”

“Shoot,” Marylu said, “he nearly scared me enough to get out of here!”

“Aw,” Lorena said, “we need you and your welcome wagon.”

Andy watched Tasha and Marc, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I still don’t get it. Why was he trying to keep you guys apart?”

Katie nudged him hard, and when he swung a look back at her, she shushed him and flicked her chin toward Marc.

All chins followed suit because Marc hadn’t heard a word Andy said. His clear eyes were focused solely on Tasha’s, a hint of something a little serious and definitely overwhelming brimming in his gaze. “I love you,” he whispered, as if they were the only two people sitting on that slab of concrete in the cool, coastal mountain air.

“Oh brother,” Andy said, to the laughter of those around him.

Tasha ignored the snickering and smiled at Marc, meaning it with every piece of her. See what she meant about dreams? She’d moved here to run away from heartbreak and found herself right smack in the middle of love—really, for the very first time.

“I love you too, cowboy,” she said, her eyes brimming with something too. “I’m glad you’re my ... neighbor.”

Marc threw back a laugh, his new Stetson dropping to the ground behind them. With a swoop, he took Tasha’s face in his hands, and kissed her, unleashing a torrent of passion. “That’s going to change,” he whispered harshly, his voice thick with emotion. “If I have anything to say about it, sweetheart, that’s going to change.”

She knew, without a doubt, that this wasn’t wishful thinking on Marc’s part. Truth was, Tasha couldn’t wait to see what changes her Stetson-wearing contractor had in mind.

~~~

Dear Readers,

I hope you enjoyed this trip to the fictional town of Cottage Grove—treacherous as it may have been in parts! If you’ve ever had the chance to travel the beautiful, winding Pacific Coast Highway (PCH) through Northern California, you probably recognized some similarities to locales in this story.